


Remember Me for Centuries

by Drem_Yol_Lok



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: (Not a Mary-Sue I promise), Also James explodes everything, Both Q and Bond are ignoring the real issues, Gunshot Wounds, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Warning May Change, sorry i can't tag for shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drem_Yol_Lok/pseuds/Drem_Yol_Lok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love with James Bond was said to be easy, with his charming façade and disarming looks that could snare even the most reluctant participant. But James Bond falling in love? James Bond couldn’t fall in love. It was against the rules. James Bond cannot allow himself the vulnerability.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Breath and a Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> *I wasn't really sure what I was doing when I wrote this, so the chapters can be read as stand alone/oneshots. I think.
> 
> **I’m Australian so I mainly use UK words, e.g jumper, lift, etc. 
> 
> ***I was listening to Komodo Dragon, Tennyson, and Modigliani by Thomas Newman for inspiration, as well as Superheroes by The Script, I Bet My Life by Imagine Dragons, and Sacrifice by Tyler Bates for Guardians of the Galaxy.
> 
> ****Also, apologies for any spelling and/or grammatical mistakes!

“Bond, I’m picking up two men in the lobby,” Q noted, scanning the security camera feed, “One in the dark grey by the counter, the other lingering by the pot plant over on your right.”

Bond just reshuffled his newspaper, casually glancing at his watch while surreptitiously singling out the men Q had spotted. Around him, various men and women in expensive looking clothes chattered away and conducted business, or were being guided by various hotel staff. The man in the dark grey suit was tapping his fingers to a mindless rhythm, and Bond couldn’t help echoing the taps in his head. After another few minutes that seemed to stretch on for an age, Bond sighed and rearranged himself slightly in the armchair he was sitting in. His borrowed suit was starting to itch and god knows how long until the package that those thugs were waiting for would arrive.

“Hang on, we’ve got a bellboy approaching the one at the counter…” Q petered off, watching the screens intensely, and on the other end, Bond could hear Q’s soft breathing speed up minutely. Bond stared, unseeing, at the newspaper in his hands.

“Ok… Now the package is changing hands.”

Bond cleared his throat. Taking furtive glances over the rim of his newspaper, Bond watched as the slim black container was passed to the man in grey before it disappeared into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The subtle flick of fingers brought the lout who had been dawdling by the pot over, and together they moved off towards the lifts.

“Make sure you get in that lift, 007. If we lose that package it’s game over.”

James stood, folding his newspaper neatly before depositing it on the side table in front of him. At a seemingly casual pace, Bond made for the lifts, his pace quickening as the men entered the lift. The doors were sliding shut and Q hissed something in his ear, but the sound of his blood was roaring in his ears and Q’s comment went unheard. At the last moment he deftly slipped his hand between the doors, and they reopened with a crisp ‘ding’.

“Evening gents.”

Bond smiled cheerfully at them as he entered the lift. They returned the smile with barely concealed annoyance underneath as the doors slid closed. As Bond turned his back on them, he saw the almost imperceptible nod made by the man in grey reflected in the polished surface of the lift doors, and Bond’s trigger finger twitched minutely. A sharp intake of breath whispered in his ear, and it was as if that was what he had been waiting for. Like a snake, Bond whipped forwards and slammed on the emergency brake button, causing the lift to shudder to a halt. Swiftly, Bond elbowed Grey-suit in the solar plexus and brought his leg up to knee the man in the face as he doubled over from the initial blow. Grey-suit’s lackey in the blue suit was next. He’d brought his gun out and Bond thrust all his weight into crushing him against the wall, once, twice; whirling around and sweeping his leg to connect with the back of the man’s knee. A few well-placed punches to the face and the man in blue crumpled. Q let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Bond looked up at the camera in the ceiling of the lift and waved.

Kicking the guns out of relative reach, Bond then crouched down and rifled through Grey-suit’s coat pockets until he found what he was looking for; a slim round cylinder. Bond studied it carefully, but there was no visible opening and didn’t look like it would explode, so he slipped it into his pocket.

“Close shave, 007. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen again.”

Bond grunted in reply.


	2. Explosions and Exasperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don’t you have someone else to bother? Bad guys? Criminal masterminds? Poisonous reptiles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *You've probably noticed that I don't come up with very good chapter titles. Or summaries, for that matter.

“Honestly, why do you even need me? Despite my attempts, you still happen to create explosions wherever you go! It’s like you do it on _purpose_.” 

An exasperated Q groaned, taking off his glasses with one hand and massaging his temple with the other. Another load of damned paperwork for ‘ _just what exactly was the reason behind that explosion?_ ’ Q leant back in his chair and swivelled, watching the fiery explosion on-screen flick past as he twirled, hoping it would all just become a blur so that he couldn't see the details; like the thick black smoke belching from the building, or the red-orange flames, or the panic-stricken faces of civilians.

A garbled response and the scratch of static was all he got from Bond.

“ _And_ you’ve damaged your equipment, _again_!”

This time the only sound was of white noise.

Q threw his hands in the air.

\----

A few days later, Bond finally wound up back at MI6, looking decidedly bedraggled. Bond had his left forearm bound with clean white bandages, and the bruise on the right side of his face was beginning to develop a purplish tinge around the edges of greenish-yellow skin. A myriad of cuts and scratches littered themselves up his arms and neck, probably as a result of exploding glass from his damned explosion. Q was unimpressed. As Bond waltzed casually into the Q division, he couldn’t mask the slight limp in his right leg.

“Morning, Q.”

“007,” Q snapped. 

Bond raised an eyebrow.

Q folded his arms, taking in the sight of a definitely bruised and battered James Bond. “You certainly lack a certain level of finesse, 007.” 

Bond just shrugged.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“I was on leave. I thought I’d pop round and see how you were getting on.”

“Well, I’ve been doing perfectly fine, that is, until you came snooping around! Don’t you have someone else to bother? Bad guys? Criminal masterminds? Poisonous reptiles?”

Bond shrugged again.

“Wish I could make you vanish,” Q muttered, shaking his head and swivelling in his chair to return to the work laid out on his desk. When he looked up again, Bond was gone, and a singed, unidentifiable piece of equipment lay on his desk. Q sighed. James Bond would be the death of him. Literally.


	3. "Day Off" Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *As I mentioned earlier, I’m Australian so for the majority of the time I use UK words, e.g jumper, lift, etc. However, I do use some American terms e.g pants, which are used here to mean trousers.
> 
> **Also first time writing anything even remotely smutty. I felt so embarassed writing this omg

Q was tired. So tired. It had been four days since Q had last slept. He was tense, irritable, and overall, worried. A mission in Olympia, Washington, had turned sour, and Bond hadn’t been heard from since. The mission had been fairly routine; Bond would hang around, act charming, get info, steal something, and no doubt explode something, before leaving. Q sighed and shook his head. He sat at his desk and watched the feeds from his hacked security cameras while facial recognition software scanned through the thousands of faces recorded on databases around the world. Q breathed in deeply, the smell of coffee permeating the building. After Bond had disappeared in Olympia, Q had been stationed not too far away in a roomy apartment above a coffee house in Belltown, Seattle; it had a pleasantly relaxing atmosphere, with comfortable furniture and a soothing colour scheme. The coffee downstairs was a plus; it supplied him with the caffeine hit that tea alone could not provide. However, at the moment, Q was definitely not comfortable, and most certainly not soothed.

Q slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. He could still see the image seared into his mind, of the bullet penetrating Bond’s right shoulder in a spray of blood; how Bond had instinctively recoiled, how the look of pain and shock that flitted across his face could not be concealed. Q covered his face in his hands and sighed deeply again to try and calm himself. He stood and moved to the large window which overlooked the street. Outside, snow drifted downwards in a haze, covering everything in a thick white carpet, and ice-slick pavements glinted in the light of streetlamps. Q shivered slightly at the chill coming off the windowpane, and checked his watch; a reading of 4°C with 30% humidity. No wonder the streets were empty. Q hummed, wondering where Bond was now. Had he escaped? Or was he being held hostage? (Q still couldn’t believe that his video feed had cut out. Q was infuriated with himself.) Did Bond only sustain one injury, or were there more? Had he found someone to help him? Or had it been too late? What if-

No. Thinking like that wasn’t helpful, not in the least. What _was_ helpful was Q doing his job and trying to find Bond, wherever he may be. But in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help worrying. Q didn’t know if it was the sleep deprivation talking, but Q was seriously considering sending out ‘Missing’ leaflets and sticking them on telephone poles all over town, secret identity be damned. Q shook his head. 

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” Q recited to himself.

Sitting back down at his desk, Q shivered.

_At least the cold will keep me awake._

\---

Q rubbed at his eyes tiredly and squinted at his screen; he couldn’t focus properly on the words in front of him. Q groaned long and loud, with just a hint of desperation. _Stupid field agents and their uncanny ability to fuck things up for everybody. Especially Bond._ In all honesty, Q felt like weeping, for the sheer level of exhaustion and constant state of anxiousness was really starting to creep up on him. He was apparently hearing things, too. The handle on the door leading to the balcony was squeaking as it jiggled slightly, as though someone was- 

Wait. Shit.

Q reached slowly for the gun that had been sitting on his desk, only there as a reluctant safety precaution. Q bloody hated pulling the trigger; that’s what field agents were for. A shadow moved in the darkness outside his balcony door as the doorhandle jiggled; once, twice, and then creaked as it unlocked. A chill wind swept into the room as the door opened, disturbing Q’s paper notes which fluttered to the floor. Q readied his gun as the intruder stepped into the room. And Q nearly pulled the trigger anyway once he saw who it was.

\---

Bond looked absolutely appalling. His face looked slightly puffy and mottled with a mass of bruises; his new clothes (definitely stolen) were covered with grime as though he’d gone crawling through a sewer; a sleeve was missing from his dress shirt and had been turned into a makeshift bandage which was currently stained red with blood from his bullet to the shoulder; and his hands were torn up as though he’d scrubbed them with a cheese grater. Q didn’t even register the smell coming off Bond until later, after the initial shock had worn off. Bond said nothing, just slumped into the nearest seat available, put his feet up on the coffee table, and closed his eyes.

Q was speechless.

Bond, who had been expecting some sort of angry outburst, cracked one eye open. Q looked very tired; the dark circles under his eyes were prominent, and he swayed slightly, as if drunk. His hair was a mess, his clothes were dirty, and he looked pallid and wan. Bond had never seen him like this.

“Q? Everything all right?” Bond queried, leaning forwards in his seat with a wince.

“Yes, quite,” Q replied curtly, turning his back on Bond and heading into the kitchen, “Although it could be said that you should change and clean yourself up a little.”

“I – Uh, of course,” Bond murmured, looking down at himself distractedly.

Q opened the fridge and stared at its contents blankly, the white light emanating from inside casting an unhealthy glow across Q’s pale skin. Bond paused for a moment, watching silently, before heading to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him with an audible click. Q stood there for a moment in the silence as his eyes watered, brushing away a single teardrop that landed on his cheek. Q couldn’t tell if he was angry or relieved. Probably both. Q shut the fridge door gently and ambled out of the kitchen. He looked down the dark hallway, which seemed to stretch on forever. The bedroom felt so far away. So he shuffled slowly into the living room and nearly collapsed onto the sofa, eyes drooping shut, and was asleep in an instant.

\---

Bond stepped out of the bathroom a while later smelling clean and fresh after a thorough shower, and his shoulder was freshly sewn shut with tooth floss. He was, however, wearing only a towel. He’d have to pilfer some of Q’s clothes. Reluctant for Q to find him in a towel, Bond snooped around, opening cupboards and drawers to acquire something to wear. Sneaking into the bedroom, Bond noted that the bed hadn’t been used in a while, judging by the very fine smattering of dust on the sheets. Bond frowned, then shivered. It was damn cold in this apartment, and even if he had been wearing clothes he would still be cold. Opening the closet on the far side of the room, Bond was met with clothes that were all definitely too small for him. Damn. Except… 

“You’ve _got_ to be joking.”

Bond pulled out a pair of baggy track pants which looked like they would just slip off Q’s slim hips, and an overlarge jumper that looked like it had been knitted by someone’s grandmother. Bond sighed, but slipped on the articles all the same. The jumper was surprisingly soft and not at all itchy, to Bond’s relief. It smelt nice. That reminded him – where was Q? Bond padded silently down the hallway, keeping an eye out for the younger man. Bond found him slumped on the sofa, asleep, in a rather uncomfortable-looking position. He was shivering slightly. Bond shook his head. Ever so gently so as not to wake him, Bond slipped one arm around Q’s shoulders and another around the back of his knees, and picked him up. Bond’s right shoulder screamed in protest, and as he moved back up the hallway carrying Q he could feel his makeshift tooth floss stitches coming apart. Bond set Q down on the bed softly, placing a pillow under his head and covering him with as many blankets as he could find to keep him warm. With his left hand keeping pressure on the wound in his shoulder, Bond gently removed Q’s glasses and set them on the bedside table. Satisfied, Bond slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Back in the living room, after re-doing his stitches, Bond made himself comfortable on the sofa that had been previously occupied by Q. His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was the comforting smell of Q’s jumper.

\---

Bond woke early, snow still falling in a grey, cloud-covered world. Bond felt decidedly cosy in his thick jumper despite the chill, and snuggled deeper into its folds. But, the smell of the jumper reminded him of Q. Q hadn’t looked so good last night, and Bond wondered how he was doing. He grunted as he sat up, shoulder aching painfully. He opened the door of Q’s room quietly, and was relieved to see that Q looked much better; he didn’t look so pale and he appeared to be much more relaxed.

For the rest of the day, Bond amused himself by exploring the apartment and watching the security camera feed that was still up. He also made himself a bite to eat at mealtimes and checked in on Q every hour. It was around nine o’clock when Q awoke. He was groggy and disorientated, and his mouth felt parched. His stomach felt like it was eating itself. 

Q shoved on his glasses and stumbled out of bed, down the hallway, and into the living room. Bond was coiled on the sofa, still looking like he could pounce at any second despite the clothes he was wearing.

“Bond? What? Uh, what’s the time? What are you-?”

“You’ve slept for about 21 hours, Q.” Bond replied, with some amusement.

“Oh.”

Bond just hummed as he returned to the book he’d found in one of the cupboards.

“But…what are you still doing here?”

“Well, I needed time to rest and it seems that you did, too,” Bond said coolly.

“Oh.”

Q stood there for a moment, still in a bit of daze. He then remembered that he hadn’t washed in quite a while and that his clothes were filthy.

“Right, well. If you need me, I’ll be in the bathroom.”

Bond nodded in response.

Q headed to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He busied himself with shedding his dirty clothes and turning on the hot water in the shower before stepping under the delightfully relaxing spray. It was a few moments before he realised that Bond was wearing _those_ pants. Q dropped the bar of soap he was holding with a gasp and turned bright red. In an instant Bond was outside the door.

“Q? Everything alright?”

 _God in heaven_.

“Y-Yes, everything’s fine! I just – dropped the soap is all. No need to trouble yourself!”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely!”

“…Alright, then.” Bond muttered, unconvinced. Never the less, he let him be.

Q held his breath for a few more seconds before sighing and covering his face with his hands.

As Bond padded back into the living room, he suddenly felt extremely stupid. What if Q had been ‘busy’, and Bond had just questioned him on how he was going? _Stupid!_

In the bathroom, Q was having a silent freak-out. _I can’t believe this, I can’t believe this, this can’t be happening. Of all the things to wear, he picks those pants_. Due to Q’s constant workload that provided him with very few opportunities to have a moment to himself, Q had unintentionally assigned one pair of pants the title of ‘Day Off’ pants, which he wore when he was on leave. He’d wear them when he ate crisps and sweets, slouched in front of the television, when he slept, and, specifically, when he jerked off. Q felt like screaming. 

_Breathe, just breathe. Bond doesn’t know anything about the pants; he doesn’t have a clue. He won’t know anything if you don’t act stupid. Besides, he’ll be on his merry way soon enough (probably to explode something) and he’ll be none the wiser for it. I just have to keep a level head._

Q took a deep breath and quickly washed his hair and body, dutifully ignoring the slight flutter of arousal in his gut. 

Once dry, Q darted out of the bathroom in a fresh pair of pyjamas and uttered a quick ‘goodnight’ to Bond, almost sprinting to the refuge of his bedroom. Shutting the door in relief, Q felt extremely tired, realising that his previous stressful revelation had drained a lot of his energy. He snuggled back under the covers and fell fast asleep.

Bond was sitting on the sofa in the living room and was cringing internally. When Q had said goodnight to him, he was skittish and unfocused, and had practically run to the bedroom when Bond had said ‘sleep tight’. Bond had almost _definitely_ interrupted Q in the shower. He closed the book he’d been trying to read and tossed it onto the coffee table. He lay back and tried to sleep, but his mind was occupied.

\---

In the middle of the night, Q woke with a start. For a moment he wasn’t sure what woke him, but then he heard it; Bond groaned, like he was in pain. In an instant, Q was on the alert. Q swore internally, for his gun was still on his desk where he’d left it when Bond had finally arrived. Opening his door carefully, Q crept down the hallway and into the living room, scanning for threats. He heard Bond groan again. Was he alright? Q peered over the top of the sofa to see Bond sleeping fitfully, twitching, tossing and turning. Poor bugger. He must get nightmares all the time.

“Bond?” Q called out softly, reaching for his arm, “Bond are you –“

In a heartbeat Q was on the floor and Bond’s full weight on him, crushing the air out of Q’s lungs. Bond’s hand was around his throat, slowly cutting off his already low oxygen supply.

“James!” Q choked out, “James it’s me, Q! Are you alright?”

It took a few seconds or so for Bond to respond, and in that time Q could feel every one of Bond’s muscles tense and shift, ready to be used to their maximum potential. It was like touching death. In the silence of those few seconds, Q could feel Bond’s hot breath on his neck, the rushing of his blood in his ears, the quickness of his heartbeat, the heat coming off Bond in waves, the press against his thigh-

Whoa, what?

At that moment Bond’s eyes refocused and zeroed in on Q’s face. Reading the shock and confusion there, Bond thrust himself backwards and stood, pointedly facing away from him. Bond massaged his temples with one hand and motioned for Q to leave with the other. 

“Go back to bed, Q.” Bond said roughly.

Still catching his breath, Q scrambled away from him and ran from the room.

Bond sat heavily on the sofa and hid his face in his hands. When he had first awoken, he had thought he was still dreaming; the glittering eyes in the dream were exactly the same as Q’s, light green with a ring of blue around the edges. But it wasn’t just the eyes, it was the expression held in them. They had glinted like the owner had Bond exactly where he wanted; it was a predatory look, but without malicious intent. Bond had felt that tug in his gut and had groaned. And Q had heard him. _And_ felt his dick. _Fuck_.

Back in the bedroom, Q was hiding under the covers, frozen in shock and gasping for air. He couldn’t believe this. _Just a simple biological reaction_ , Q was telling himself. _But oh god, Bond in **those** pants while he was hard_. Q tried thinking of something else, _anything_ else, but it was like his mind was welded to the feeling of Bond against him. Q whimpered. He could still feel the ghost of it; it had slotted so neatly into the curve of his thigh, radiating heat. So thick and heavy and _perfect_. 

\---

But when Q edged carefully into the living room in the morning, Bond was gone.


End file.
